Urban Heaven 2004-03-03 @ 8:52 p.m. Dead clouds bursting with gray monotony make pretty pictures out of pollution; sepia-toned photographs televised overhead like 50's re-runs on the small screen; black and white and borders sharp, a happy grayscale for our viewing. Smoke-slicked windways make smokers' lungs seem clean, tarred black with nicotine, ozone-wound cut jigsaw clean, bleeding her incessant UV. Nauseous with the pull of gravity, the atmosphere's praying to leave, saying, "Spray a few more aerosols for me." An urban heaven lined in red brick foundations, no clouds to marvel at, no mythic silver sheen. Lets breathe the spent exhaust. The above is a poem I wrote after having been assigned to "stare at the sky for an hour" and then write "a little something about it." Of course, being who I am, I wrote it up in class as the teacher was reminding us about how she could "collect it at any minute." I didn't stare at a blank sky, or at gray, gray clouds, or any of that stuff. I find experiences are best expressed when not experienced at all. My excuse is that it helps me come up with fictitious events, and thus, improves my writing... What's your excuse?
The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12 everything � Claudia (2003-2008) |